


It's Okay, It's Not the End of the World (I Think?)

by glassbridges



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dimension Travel, Doc is a necromancer, Gen, Magic, Necromancy, and mumbo is the poor soul who got caught up in things, i guess, now with grimdog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22083649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassbridges/pseuds/glassbridges
Summary: There is a war.Doc is a necromancer. He attempts to summon a warrior to save them all.He summons a spoon.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 92





	1. That Wasn't Supposed to Happen

**Author's Note:**

> This began when I read somewhere in the comments of Doc's video during his deals with Grimdog about how he was like a necromancer.  
> I looked at the comment, and went, 'oh that's clever'.  
> Then I went, 'hmmm...'
> 
> I might add more to this, but I'm not sure. I think it's a pretty interesting premise. It kept me up all night, after all :')
> 
> Just as a clarification: Mumbo is from the Hermitcraft universe, where they are playing Demise. Doc and Scar are from a sorta-medieval-fantasy world.

Doc's down in the basement again. Scar knows that it's important, but he worries. He's been bringing over meals that are barely glanced at, and blankets that are left untouched, and he _worries_. 

Jellie purrs at him as he fusses over the dishes in the tiny kitchen. Doc has built some sort of glowing, rune-inscribed contraption that's supposed to wash dishes automatically, but Scar doesn't know how to work it. He'd probably hand-wash the dishes even if he knew, though. It gives him something to do, and he's been feeling particularly useless for the past few days. 

Well, that's wrong.

If Scar knew how the dishwasher worked, he'd probably be right alongside Doc, working with him on the summoning circle. He'd be helping, instead of sitting around uselessly.

There aren't a lot of dishes for him to go through. Scar has learned that Doc has a very no-nonsense philosophy: anything that isn't used, isn't needed. There's a set and a half of cutlery, a small collection of bowls and plates, five matching glasses, the mug Scar got him when they first met (he smiles at the obnoxious shade of green that separates it from the rest of the dishes), and a couple of kitchen knives. 

Scar recalls the rumors he's heard of his odd neighbor, how the village nearby whispers tales of the evil wizard who lives just over the hill. He thinks about the armchair they had to pull out of the bedroom when it came time to eat, so that Scar had a place to sit, before Doc bought a second dining chair. He thinks about how the previous owner of his house had looked so relieved when Scar had signed the contract, and how well-meaning citizens had come up to him the day he moved in, with earnest warnings of his neighbor-to-be. 

"He ain't normal," one of the visitors had said, an old sailor with sharp blue eyes. "Knew him as a young 'un before the border wars. Quiet. Had eyes that saw through your soul to heaven 'n back again." He chuckled darkly. "Got picked up by them damn mages the first year into the war. Didn't come back until just recently, right after the war ended. Y' can tell, you know. Lad's got 'n eye of fire and a shadow of death. Best leave him be." 

Scar thinks about when he'd decided to visit anyway, just to see, and the painfully clear surprise on his neighbor's face when Scar greeted him with a smile and a welcoming gift. He sighs, and sets the dishes to dry. 

Jellie watches him from the dining table, eyes gleaming from the sunlight streaming through the window. 

"He said he didn't want any unnecessary disturbances," he says conversationally to the gray cat. "But he's been down there for almost three days, now." 

Jellie flicks her tail slightly, as if to say, _go on_. 

"Surely Doc should come up now. It can't be good for his health, right?" Scar absentmindedly scratches behind Jellie's ears. "Especially if he's not eating well." 

Jellie turns to look at Scar, and gently bats his hand away, rumbling. He smiles. "You're right," he agrees, and Jellie blinks at him slowly, like he is listing an undisputed fact. "He needs a break. I'll go get him."

* * *

The last thing Doc needs now is a break. 

Swirling arrays of rusty red are carefully arranged on the stone floor, dull under the yellow light of the torches. He half wishes for a window or some glowstone, something to make the runes easier to see, but he needs darkness just as much as the runes to make this work, and flickering torchlight preserves shadows much better than lanterns or sunlight. 

He thinks he's about done, but he'll need to check and double check the summoning matrix. If it's wrong, he's not going to be able to get away with it a second time. And, contrary to the rumors, Doc is neither exceptionally powerful nor skillful, just a slightly more knowledgeable member of an already obscure practice. If Doc fails, he won't have many options. 

_"Why?"_ A small, bitter voice echoes in his head. " _This land has never cared about you. Save your own skin. They can save theirs."_

But Doc has heard this voice long enough to know how to deal with it, and he pushes it away. He thinks about families and children, reminds himself about blameless innocents. Scar flashes through his mind, kind and caring, and he almost smiles at the thought that he has something concrete to hold onto, now; that he knows someone to be there for, instead of a faceless concept. 

Then he thinks about the war that would come if he fails, the land descending back into chaos just as it had found peace, and the almost-smile very quickly vanishes. 

He sets the last of the candles and obsidian anchors down and makes his way to the edge of the circle, pulling out his bundle of notes and calculations. Everything has to be correct, down to the last degree, because Doc cannot afford to mess this up. 

Finally, after what feels like eons, Doc sets aside his sheafs of scrawled writing and exhales. He lights the candles, one by one, and takes down the torches, holding his breath. The candles glow softly against pure black, like stars in a night sky. The runes seem to come alive under the darkness, humming excitedly, waiting to be activated.

There is a gap in a key matrix, the one that the rest of the runes all feed into. Doc slowly kneels down, tense with anticipation, and connects the broken line with his hand.

It is at this moment that the door to the stairs cracks open, bringing a shaft of light into the dark room. "Hey, Doc," says Scar hesitantly, and Doc looks back at him in surprise, frozen like a deer in the headlights. The circle begins to light up under his fingers, and Doc feels the runes scramble in confusion as the solitary beam of sunlight shines down on the matrix. 

"Oh," Doc says a little too late, and then the circle bursts into blinding light-- 

\--and then he feels a a blast of power, and he's being thrown back, and then----

* * *

Mumbo has had enough of being blown up today, thank you very much. 

He sits down for a minute after he stumbles out of the booby-trapped End Portal, just catching his breath. He's lost his Totem of Undying, and has just gained several new scorch marks on his suit in return.

This does not feel like a fair trade. Picking hopelessly at the burned fabric, he sighs. He suspects it will take more than a dry cleaning to fix this. 

After a moment, Iskall joins him, looking at him worriedly through his massive dragon head. "I was not expecting that," he says, shaky, and Mumbo laughs weakly. "Yeah, no joking." 

A hush overtakes them, jarring in its silence. Iskall hands Mumbo a handkerchief. It'll probably take more than that to get all the gunpowder off of him, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless, using it to wipe his eyes clean. The cloth brushes ash into the dragon head's eyeholes, and he grimaces. 

"I'm never going to get the soot from under the mask out, am I," he says despairingly. Iskall laughs, voice a little harsh from nerves, but soon Mumbo joins in and the air becomes light again, leaving the shock of the explosion behind. 

Once they've calmed down, the silence feels much more peaceful. "Demise is the single most terrifying event ever," Iskall declares eventually. "As soon as this is over, I'm going to play dangerous minigames and die to the stupidest things. Get it out of my system by the sheer number of times I have to respawn." 

Mumbo chuckles. "I'll be on my toes for a while," he admits. "I got startled by a chicken the other day." 

Iskall raises an eyebrow, amused. "A chicken?" 

"In my defense, it was a very sneaky chicken. Didn't cluck a single time before it jumped from the rafters onto my face." 

"Must have been a spy for Poultry Man," says Iskall, grinning. He stands up and offers a hand to Mumbo. "Ready to go End-busting?" 

"Let's," says Mumbo, and takes Iskall's hand. 

They make their way unhurridly to one of the End gateways, avoiding the endermen easily enough. They pause just before the formation of bedrock. 

"Bet I get the most shulker boxes," Iskall says, a gleam of competitiveness in his eyes. "You're on," says Mumbo, smiling back. He tosses his enderpearl into the gateway. Suddenly, there is a loud blast of noise, and---

* * *

\--the matrix dims to a sizzle, finally burnt out. 

Doc groans, lifting his head off the ground. His mouth tastes like sawdust. 

The door must be open now, because gentle rays of sunlight settle on Scar's prone form. Jellie has made her way downstairs as well, curled by Scar's head, and raises her gaze to Doc as he struggles upright, meowing plaintively. 

Doc stumbles toward Scar first, shoving the issue of the failed ritual to the backburners. Scar first, thoughts of failure and consequent doom later. He's relieved to find a strong pulse, and is just about to haul him upstairs, when a quiet moan stops him in his tracks. 

The sound did not come from Scar. It didn't come from Jellie. It definitely did not come from Doc. 

Doc turns. 

His immediate impression is that, despite everything, the matrix did work, because there is clearly someone lying on the center of the circle, arm shielding their face from unwanted light. He sags in relief. Scar is fine, and the ritual worked. It is the best outcome he could hope for after his disaster of a summoning. 

Then the stranger slowly moves their arm away, groaning louder, and Doc realizes that they have a dragon mask on their face. Almost immediately, the situation drops from "best outcome" to "caught in a forest wildfire". 

Doc leaves Scar at the foot of the stairs and tackles the stranger, panic setting in his lungs. He analyzes the situation rapidly. 

Scar is unconscious. Scar is unconscious and by the stairs, defenseless if anyone comes down it. Doc is weak, still drained by the ritual. 

The Dragon. Did Doc botch the ritual and summon them, or were they hiding, spying-- he knows that they've got a mage who specializes in illusions, he could've easily been watching, invisible, the whole time--- It doesn't matter. If one Dragon is here, the rest are probably arriving soon. He doesn't doubt that they've covered themselves in protection enchantments. It's not a stretch to assume they have tracking spells too. 

The Dragon must have been stunned by the blast as well, because they only grasp Doc's arms weakly as he slams the Dragon against the floor. 

"Tell me where the others are," hisses Doc, eyes ablaze with fear. He knows he looks scary, has been told that he is intimidating with his red eye and soul-searching stare, and he uses it to its full effect. 

The stranger's eyes widen slightly behind the mask, but the answer is strangely unafraid and less than helpful. "Doc?" His name is murmured dazedly, like he is a friend, and he is furious-- there is _no right_ \-- 

"What do you mean, "others"?" the Dragon continues, unaware of Doc's tightening grip. 

"Your associates," Doc says scathingly. "The ones who are trying to start another damned war. The ones who plan on dragging this whole place to hell!" His voice breaks into to a yell. 

But the Dragon just looks bewildered. "Thought we finished the civil war... Made a terrible triple agent anyways. Thought we were in Demise now." They pause a bit, words slowing. "Doc, 'think I need to lie down. Stupid explosions... Not a good day." 

And Doc can only stare in disbelief as the Dragon drifts off and leaves him alone to deal with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this pretty quickly (gonna try to salvage the rest of my sleep hours, haha) so please, if there's anything misspelled or incorrectly structured, please point it out in the comments!
> 
> I'm gonna sleep now :'D


	2. The More Things are Explained, the Less it Makes Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to make plot points and go, "I (sorta) know what to do, but I don't know how to get there"!  
> I have vague ideas of what could happen, but then I see a trope I like and I want to fit it in where it doesn't :(
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this! Let's begin!

The thing is, Doc's fine. His house is perfectly untouched and devoid of intruders. There is no team waiting to capture him, no ambush waiting in the wings. He knows, because he's checked. Several times. Apart from Scar, who's in the bedroom upstairs with Jellie, and the Dragon, who Doc has gone and dumped on the living room sofa, the place is truly empty.

Doc recognizes this should be a relief, but it feels more like a snub. The one thing he had been certain of when he'd emerged from the basement, and fate had smirked and said, _you sure about that?_

The figure on the couch twitches slightly under the spare jacket Doc had draped over him when he started shivering, and begins to mumble something about pistons, whatever that means. Doc looks at him for a moment.

He had hoped that searching the man would give him some kind of explanation for the Dragon's arrival, or maybe an indication of his intentions. However, it appears that Doc isn't very perceptive, or the stranger is unusually esoteric, or some combination of both, because the more Doc finds, the more confused he gets.

For example, the stranger's face doesn't match anything he has heard of the Dragons. There is no glowing blue eye, no blonde hair or sweeping bangs. Instead, Doc is presented with extremely pale skin, dark hair, and a mustache. Curse that mustache, too, because if it wasn't for that, Doc could have at least chalked it up to his appearance being somewhat generic. As it is, the stranger's features are too distinctive to merit the unacceptable lack of information Doc has about him.

There weren't even any weapons on him when Doc had searched. Just the blackened remnant of a shaft and pockets of dark, glittering, emerald-tinted powder. Doc thinks can identify the latter, but it only serves to deepen the mystery. Ender pearls are rare and versatile, used both as a raw material for teleporting, and as a powerful base for higher-order magic involving space manipulation. 

Which... doesn't make a lot of sense for a Dragon to own. Why would a Dragon resort to ender pearls? The expense wouldn't be worth it when one could just _fly_ out of danger. How did he shatter them like that, too? Ender pearls are fragile, yes, but these fragments are extremely fine, to the point where it looks as if they have been thrown into a grindstone. But why would anyone do that? Ender pearls are inert once broken; there isn't any point to crushing it like that. 

And the soot. What's with the soot? Doc scowls at the black smudges left on the jacket. It had looked like dirt at first, but it definitely smells of fire, not earth. What in the world did he do, roll through a coal mine?

Doc yawns, the questions in his mind growing fuzzy from exhaustion. He's been up for the past few days, working in the basement, and now that his adrenaline rush from the ritual is fading, he can feel his fatigue beginning to return. Doc's not eager to leave an intruder unattended in his house, though, even if he may be unconscious and disarmed. The Dragon would wake up eventually, after all, and although the man's hands have been tied, Doc's rather rudimentary knotting skills probably wouldn't stand muster for long.

A warm weight jumps up besides him.

"Jellie. How's Scar?" 

Jellie presses into his side and glances up with wide green eyes, purring slightly.

"Okay," Doc says hesitantly, taken aback at her affectionate demeanor, "so he's fine, then." 

Despite his friendship with Scar, he and Jellie don't exactly get along. They mostly ignore or avoid each other, and Doc is fine with that. But this behavior?

Jellie only does this when she wants something from him.

She crawls into his lap and butts his unresponsive hand gently with her head, the perfect picture of love and innocence. Which is a lie, and he knows it. 

Unfortunately, Jellie knows full well that, even with Doc being aware of her antics, her will is nigh unavoidable. He gives in, running his fingers through soft, silky fur. "What do you want?" he asks, somewhat wearily.

Of course, the instant he utters the magic words, the warmth under his fingertips vanishes as Jellie gracefully slips out of his grip and off the couch. She straightens up on the wooden floors, commanding him to follow.

"I can't just _leave_ ," he says exasperatedly, gesturing towards the sleeping Dragon, but the cat just sniffs, tail waving impatiently. She glares at him, eyes narrowed in a way that promises unending hostility if he doesn't comply. He doesn't doubt the threat, either.

The first time he ignored her, back before he'd ever known she was Scar's and not some random cat that had wandered over from the farm to the east, she had hounded him for weeks. Odds and ends had mysteriously vanished. Clothing came back with gaping holes. Nights were filled with yowls and crashes that continued until daylight.

If Doc had been told a year and a half ago that he'd be bested by a cat, he'd have thought it an extremely poor joke. He sighs. 

If he ignores her, she'd just harass him until she'd get what she wanted anyway, with some additional revenge doled out over the next few weeks. Best to deal with it now, rather than go later and find out that the intruder had awoken in his absence.

"It better be quick." Jellie adopts a smug air, striding by him like the little dictatorial queen she is. He snorts at that. "Don't get too full of yourself," he says. "You better come straight to me if the Dragon so much as sneezes, alright?"

With a flick of her ears in acknowledgement, Jellie trots over to the basement door expectantly.

"Down there? What for?" Why couldn't Doc seem to catch a break?

He sidesteps Jellie’s swipe at him. She's never outright attacked him yet, only given him slight scratches despite her more than capable claws (regrettably proven by Doc’s shredded possessions), but he isn’t going to take any chances.

“Alright, alright,” Doc mutters. He wants to get this over and done with as soon as possible, whatever the ‘this’ is. There doesn’t seem like there could be much to do down there, not when the place is still filled with residual magic. It’s not like he used the space for much other than spellcraft, and with the basement as it is, it’ll take months before he’ll be able to work there without tainting the runes.

Not that Jellie would know or care, he supposes.

The basement is a wreck. Doc hadn't bothered cleaning the mess, so the failed matrix is still glowing a dull crimson on the stone floor, weak pulses of power occasionally causing the runes to flare brighter for a few seconds. Most of the candles have extinguished by now, leaving the runes as the only real source of light.

The moment he steps inside, though, he stills. 

He's being watched.

"Doc."

A voice echoes from the darkest corner, deep and distorted. The matrix begins to flicker, plunging the room in complete darkness. "So we meet again." 

The tension disappears from his body. "Hi, Ren," says Doc, deadpan, and begins to methodically yank each curtain to the basement windows open. Bit by bit, streams of sunlight filter through, casting a warm glow on the stone walls. He watches, unsympathetic, as the monochrome figure in the corner wilts.

"You're heartless, Doc, _heartless_ ," says the grim reaper, clutching his chest in betrayal. His voice has dropped its ridiculous reverberating effect, so Doc counts it as a win. "What's the point to being seen if nobody appreciates me?"

Doc raises an eyebrow. "First of all, Ren, I have a perfectly functional heart, thank you very much. Secondly, your acting is horrendous." He smiles slightly, even though he knows better. He had been expecting this encounter to come sooner or later, but he had hoped for the latter. (Ren isn’t here as his friend. Not today.) "I would say you'd make a great mime, with the color palette and over-dramatics, but you're far too loud."

"You _wound_ me," says Ren mournfully. Doc can see the hint of a grin nonetheless. "My talent is wasted on you. But," he adds, growing serious, "I'm not here to show off."

Doc has expected such. "I know." 

Ren's smile fades. His eyes shine blue behind the sunglasses, the only splash of color against gray and black. "You know what you've done, right?"

Doc doesn't deny it. 

"I do," he says bluntly, and Ren suddenly looks tired, drained. A surge of guilt runs through him, because Ren has been on his side ever since they've met, while others whispered and shied away. Ren was the one who explained to Doc everything he knows today.

He's completely abused that trust.

"Doc, you can't just go around breaking laws of nature!" Ren runs a hand through his hair. "Your existence is already testing boundaries as it is; to just negate fundamental aspects of the universe---" 

"I _know,_ " snaps Doc, words hard against Ren's gaze of disappointment, and Doc hates it, would rather that Ren be angry or spiteful or horrified by what Doc’s attempted.

(The world is fairly lenient when it comes to magic, but there are rules that have been tried and true. Magic can't last forever. It can't create objects out of nothing.

It can't touch the dead.) 

"I know," he repeats. "But I thought I could make it work, just this once. I won't stand by and watch if I can _do_ something, Ren. I can't."

Ren sighs, then. 

“You never could stand by,” the reaper says, softly. The sunlight washes between them, blurring his outline to a muted gray. “Even when we met, you were too busy fighting to die.”

Doc doesn’t say anything to that. 

(There isn’t anything to say, really.)

"It's clever," says Ren at last, picking up a nearby block of obsidian. Its polished surface dazzles back at him. "Disguising the design as a portal."

"Wouldn't have gotten this past you otherwise, would I?"

Ren glances up and cracks a weak smile. "Maybe," he says, setting the rock down, "but I don't think anyone, including me, fully understands what you did, Doc." He pauses, and then points an accusing finger at Doc. "Not that you're going to pull this sort of thing ever again, understand? I'm keeping an eye on you."

"Yeah, I figured," says Doc, somewhat resigned. He isn't ever going to draw another array without supervision now, is he? "I thought that I'd only need one shot at it, anyways. Guess I brought this on myself."

Ren straightens sharply. "Wait, what? You have to do it _again?"_

"What?'" Doc peers at him curiously. "Ren, the ritual failed. Abysmally. I'm still trying to figure out if I teleported the Dragon or he crashed the party himself, but it definitely failed." 

It's apparently the wrong answer. "I thought you’d know, of all people," says Ren, as if to himself. His blue eyes meet Doc's black and red, searching. 

“What is it?” Doc doesn’t like the sound of this, not one bit.

"So you can't fix it, then."

“Fix what? Ren, what happened?”

Ren puffs his cheeks, uncertain of how to continue. Doc would stop to make fun of it, if he wasn’t so concerned.

“Well,” Ren says eventually, “you may have accidentally blasted a hole through the boundaries of the universe?”

"Oh," says Doc, and then: _"Excuse me, **what** \--"_

* * *

Scar wakes to an unfamiliar room.

His first impression is that it's small. The bed he's in takes up a good third of the room. Apart from that and the wooden desk in the opposite corner, the room is fairly empty. He sits up, reeling as his head begins to throb.

"Where," he begins, frowning in discomfort at what’s shaping up to be a very bad headache, and then gasps as he suddenly remembers. Scar scrambles off the mattress. "Shoot," he says, "no, no, _no_."

What had he been thinking? Going down to see Doc, when he was obviously working on a delicate, extremely crucial project-- Scar doesn’t have any experience with magic whatsoever. He went in, like the idiot he was, and Doc couldn’t do anything but watch as---

“Doc!” Scar’s voice echoes as he rushes out of the room. He knows, in all likelihood, that Doc’s fine; Scar wouldn’t have woken up in that room otherwise, but it does nothing to assuage his fears. He needs physical proof, has to see Doc for himself. “Doc, where are you? Please be alright, I’m so sorry--”

A meow halts him in his tracks. “Jellie,” he says gratefully, scooping up the cat into his arms as he walks through the hallway. “Jellie, I have to find--”

Something rustles at the far end of the living room, on one of the sofas. At first, he’s confused, but then relief floods in. He sets Jellie down-- well, it’s more like she jumps out of his arms; Jellie likes her independence-- and bites his cheek as he thinks back to the small bedroom upstairs. “You didn’t have to give up your bed,” he says worriedly, as he quietly approaches the sleeping figure. “I’m the one to blame for this whole mess. Doc...”

He stares. That’s not Doc.

“Well, hello,” he says slowly. 

“Who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no Mumbo yet... hope that Ren made up for that!! 
> 
> I wasn't expecting Jellie to become such a menace but I guess this is Doc's life now


End file.
